First Light
by Gia Alexander
Summary: Updated to incorporate information revealed in the new edition of the EGC, this story details how the future Grand Moff Tarkin met his Phelarian wife.


FIRST LIGHT

Five diplomatic representatives from the nearby Eriadu system disembarked with their security detail from a _Lambda_ class shuttle at the Port City spaceport, destined for a meeting with Baron Nostremi Octovano, The Wizard of Phelarion, as he was known locally. They had come to investigate a powerful new source of explosives--a natural, sweet-smelling, heat-sensitive, and highly combustible moss that grew on Phelarion--for Eriadu's new munitions factories. The Phelarian potential had come to their attention during a recent trade summit on Eriadu, in which other types of mining companies had been involved. If the material lived up to its rumored effectiveness, Baron Nostremi's large mining and processing facilities could easily provide Eriadu a means of being well prepared in case events in the galaxy took a turn for the worst.

Eriadu's young Lieutenant Governor was certain that events would turn ugly. The Republic was in trouble, he knew, gone soft with complacency and corruption from deep inside, and the rot was steadily spreading out from Coruscant in festering, infectious ringlets to the very fringes of the galaxy. At twenty-six, he was extremely young for the post, having been thrust into it after the sudden and scandalous resignation of his predecessor. His youth, and his family's drive for aristocratic prominence in the Core Worlds, only stiffened his resolve to be always competent and well prepared. As the eldest son of Eriadu's Chief Military Officer, Wilhuff Adrian Tarkin had been in the military/political arena literally all of his life, from military prep school to the Academy to training to active duty in the Outland Regions Security Force and now to this--and he enjoyed himself thoroughly, excelling at everything he did with a technical and tactical mind far superior to that of his contemporaries and well beyond his years.

As they boarded an overland transport bound for Baron Nostremi's extravagant home and sprawling office and production complex, the Lieutenant Governor addressed his diplomatic companions. "I've had a sense of caution about this visit," he warned the others. "Octovano has a reputation of dealing with the seedy yellow underbelly of the galaxy. We shall need to remain alert."

* * *

One look at Octovano and anyone could tell why he was called the Wizard of Phelarion. A huge, grizzled old man with long, wild silver hair and a full, flowing beard who liked to wear layers of loud-colored clothing and flowing, oversized overcoats, Octovano exuded flamboyance and exuberance in everything he did. The surly lots of Hutts and Sullustans and even a few Corellians who dealt with him found his demeanor, and his well-stocked liquor cellars, most delightful. 

His daughter, however, could not have been more different, and she would soon inherit the entire operation. Nostremi's ancestors had been such isolationisis that he did not even learn to speak Basic until he was twelve, and so he had seen to it that Typhani received a first-rate education at one of the best prep schools in the galaxy. She had already received the title of Lady from her mother, true, but Typhani Octovano was hardly the frail little delicate thing the title denoted. In fact, she was a tall, solidly built, large-boned, full-figured woman with a mind of her own, and the intelligence and determination to use it. She was by no means overweight, but her stature, along with her sharply defined facial features, light skin, strong jaw line, dark eyes, and flowing dark hair gave her a severe appearance--and a presence to match. Typhani was not necessarily beautiful, but neither was she unattractive. Indeed, she was a fine specimen of what one thought of being Phelarian in the female sense.

Typhani had an unusual ability to sense things, to feel her future coming on, though she rarely paid attention to her gift and made no attempt to cultivate it. She had other responsibilities, namely learning everything she could about the birthright that would soon be hers. Things would definitely change when Papa retired. She had grown so utterly disgusted with being eyed in unsavory ways by her father's customers, and she was so used to swatting unwanted hands from her knees that it had almost become reflex. 

Baron Nostremi acknowledged that the change needed to come, for the sake of his daughter. After all, he did not want her to end up with some scoundrel Corellian smuggler for a husband. So, over the past two years, he had worked to obtain a core of business deals from more respectable sources, and was now making his first foray into landing a government contract with the Republic. In his heart, he wanted only the best for his daughter, and intended to introduce her to the best people. 

For the past two weeks, Typhani had worked tirelessly at her father's side preparing for the visit of this very important delegation. Title or not, Typhani was accustomed to working and enjoyed it. She was only two when her mother ran off with another man never to be heard from again, and so Typhani had been her father's sidearm all of her life. She had helped him prepare for many important visitors before, but this seemed different, somehow. This one would change things. She sensed it.

She sensed it early, but was too busy to think about it. Then, about a week before the arrival, the sensation became too strong for her to ignore any longer. "Papa," she said as she updated product specification details in her father's computer, "Are you sure these people are safe to deal with?"

"What people you talk about, Typhani?" he asked.

"The Eriaduans," she replied.

"No worse dan de odders," he assured her. "Why you ask?"

"Something's strange about this visit," she told him.

"Good! Maybe you catch a husband dis time," Nostremi chided her, letting out a big belly laugh. He wasn't completely teasing, though. He too had obviously noticed how some of his customers had looked at his daughter, and he feared what might happen to her after he was no longer around. He had taught Typhani well how to take care of herself, but some of his shadier contacts, he knew, would likely stop at nothing to get their hands on the mine, and on Typhani . . .

"Oh, Papa!" Typhani remarked rather sarcastically at her father's comment. Then, without warning, she winced visibly and sucked in her breath with a quick, audible gasp as both hands went to her abdomen between her chest and stomach.

"What wrong?" Nostremi asked, loading more paper into the copier.

"Probably something I ate," Typhani dismissed, and quickly continued her work. But all that night, a strange, tingling sensation remained at the spot. 

As she lay in her bed that night, stroking her solar plexus in a clockwise circular motion with the fingertips of her right hand, she suddenly realized what was strange about the impending Eriaduan visit, what it was that she was sensing. Getting out of bed, she quickly threw on a jumpsuit, made her way quietly to the mine offices, slipping into her father's office. Logging onto the computer network, she knew her father would have dossiers on these people, and she chastised herself for not looking sooner. It did not take her long, considering her father's lack of computer skills, to locate his downloads on the five individuals. She scrolled through them, reading carefully, her heart rate and breathing increasing subconsciously. When she reached the second-to-last lengthy record in the file, she suddenly found herself overtaken by a powerful inner stirring, a strong awakening of that sense of her future. She stared at the man's picture for a long time, etching it into her memory, every detail. Like her, he was rather nondescript in appearance, certainly not dashing by any means, but there was still just _something_ about him, something Typhani couldn't quite pinpoint, something powerful, something passionate. Scrolling down, she read aloud to herself, running a finger along her lower lip, triple-reinforcing the information with her eyes, her voice, and her ears, "Tarkin, Wilhuff Adrian . . . Lieutenant Governor of Eriadu . . . in the Navy . . . " 

Typhani wasn't concerned about "catching" a husband. She never had been. She had always assumed that he would catch her, or, more likely, that Papa would come in with him one day and drop him in her lap. Arranged marriages were still quite common in the Outer Rim. She had experienced two fairly serious relationships already, but ended them when she realized that her suitors wanted only her birthright and family connections. She had new standards now. The right man would have to prove to her that she meant more than megonite to him. 

"You're the one, aren't you? I know you are!" she said softly. Only the breaking of day drew her away from him. 

* * *

"I know you're here," Typhani whispered as she eyed the Eriaduan delegation from an upstairs window. "I just don't know which one you are."

As they continued their approach, though, and drew close enough that she could make out their features, she couldn't take her eyes off the one in the middle, the tall, thin, dark-haired one who moved with military precision and seemed to be in control of the others. "There you are!" she whispered. She quickly slipped back to the office to double-check the computer. She found herself staring inexplicably at his file again, scrutinizing his picture, rereading every detail again and again. She felt definitely attracted to him. This mysterious, blue-eyed Eriaduan was overtaking her in a way she did not completely understand. She'd had crushes before back in prep school on Claer, but this was different. This was a _knowing_ gnawing at her, not a yearning. 

She was still sitting there, drifting, staring, reading, wondering, when her father came into the office. She quickly clicked the file closed before he could see what she had been looking at. "Oh, good, you here. I need you get some stuff off dat computer for me. You print, make five copies, dese files," he said, and rattled off the filenames.

She sighed. "Sure, Papa."

"Den you need come back to da house an' get dressed. You need meet our guests. Dey be your guests someday soon," he said.

"Yes, Papa, I'll be right there," she assured him. 

After Nostremi's initial introductions and presentations, the delegation had been invited to view the grounds on their own before the party that was scheduled for later that evening. Baron Nostremi had also invited several local politicians and some of his more legitimate customers, and so he blustered about his house making sure that every last detail was in place.

Outside, Lieutenant Governor Tarkin walked arrogantly a couple of steps ahead of the others with his black leather-gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back. Speaking over his shoulder, he informed them, "Yes, there's definitely something wrong here, but what it is evades me." He didn't like that, and looked around to make sure their security detail was in tow.

"Do you think it's a trap of some kind?" one of the others asked.

"Possibly," Tarkin replied. "But I usually know a trap when I sense one. This is different."

"You've been talking about this strange feeling of yours about this place for the last two weeks now," another of his companion pointed out. "You haven't by chance had any Jedi training, have you?"  
Tarkin turned sharply on his companion. "Certainly not!" he snapped. "I wouldn't dream of wasting my time with such trivial nonsense!" Nonetheless, he had to admit to himself, the sensation was quite strange, as if emitted from a beacon that he couldn't see. He would find that beacon, however. He had a stealthy, uncanny way of being able to slip in and out of places undetected.

* * *

The prospect of meeting important guests always made Lady Typhani a little nervous about putting forth the best impression, for the sake of her fathers business, or, should she say, _her_ business, she thought, as she smoothed the skirt of her smart new black evening business suit with its ivory blouse. She had formal dresses, even bejeweled ball gowns, but she preferred the neat, crisp, confident feel and smell of a freshly pressed professional business suit. This time, this party, felt different and strange to her on the one hand, but on the other, she felt a twinge of withheld excitement, as if she were about to come into her own. As she worked her long sable hair into an upturned braided twist, she realized that her imminent interaction with Wilhuff Tarkin in particular should be making her giddy, silly, and a little sick to her stomach, but it wasn't. Instead, it felt like something she had to do, something that was natural for her to do, something that it was simply time to do. "_This is so very strange,_" she thought as she closed her bedroom door behind her. She stepped out into the wide upstairs hall with its deep crimson carpet and walked toward the stairs.

Tarkin heard a door close, and turned just in time to see a young woman emerge from one of the many doors that lined the upstairs hall. 

Typhani stopped one last time to check her smart, severe, businesslike appearance at a large mirror console before setting foot on the top stair. She hadn't seen Tarkin, but she knew he was there. She stopped where she stood, and slowly, very slowly, turned around. She perceived a warm, pleasant radiance course through her body. It seemed to enter through her solar plexus and exit through her chest, near her throat. It only lasted a moment, and then it was gone. It didn't even occur to her to question what he was doing upstairs in the private quarters of her estate.

Tarkin looked back at her, impressed by her appearance of sensible, confident professional competence and presence without any ostentatious trappings. Her practical, streamlined demeanor appealed instantly to him. Then he noticed it. That strange, nagging sensation was gone. Completely gone. 

She took the initiative. "I'm Typhani, Baron Nostremi's daughter," she said with an ever-confident tone, walking straight toward him. "Well, actually, _Lady_ Typhani, but only if you're in the mood to be pompous." Then she smiled at him. She knew.

If anyone else had been around the Lieutenant Governor, his security detail, his diplomatic companions, others used to his arrogant and snobbish ways, they would likely have thought him overtaken by a sudden and powerful illness, as all pretense of his typical strident, smug, self-assuring--and quite pompous--demeanor quietly vanished, as if he had slipped beneath a veil of some sort, into a private sphere that only few, very, very few indeed, would ever be allowed to enter.

"I'm Adrian," he said simply, "and I'm _not _in the mood to be pompous." He knew she could tell his full name, rank, title, and so forth by his insignias. Hed gone by his middle name since he was an infant, but primarily among family and friends because he and his father had identical names. His mother, Marganitha, a ruefully unpleasant and unhappy woman, was always bantering at her husband and her son about the slightest infraction, so she needed a way to distinguish them. The family had long since lost track of the numbers, but after looking into it, Adrian was fairly sure he was the twenty-seventh. 

He and Typhani stood silently for a moment, taking stock of each other, connecting with each other, as if they were somehow linking up like two nodes of a very complex computer network. "Come on," she said. "Were going to miss the introductions." And then they walked down the stairs together as if it were the most natural thing in the universe for them to do.

"Oh, I see you two already meet," Nostremi observed when he discovered his daughter standing with the Lieutenant Governor. 

"Yes, Papa," she assured her father.

One of Tarkin's companions, the one with whom he seemed to be the most familiar, turned to look at them then, turned back to his conversation, then glanced at them again, not trusting his initial reaction. To Wullf Yularen, it was almost as if the young woman in the black suit was _supposed_ to be there. He also noticed that, because of Typhani's Phelarian stature, the two were almost the same height.

Nostremi made his way boisterously around the room, slapping people on their backs and shaking their hands as if he would break off their arms, a glass of stiff ale always in his hand. Typhani's nose wrinkled. Such behavior might be acceptable, even advantageous, in gaining the business of a bunch of brawling Huttese smugglers, but certainly not the business of supposedly respectable gentlemen of rank within the Republic.

"You put dis stuff in you bombs, an' it go BOOM! Big, big BOOM! Everybody run away from you! You blow up everyting!" Nostremi blustered, sweeping his arms from side to side. If his loud demeanor had any relation to the megonite's power, Tarkin thought, then he might be on to something. Nostremi, however, was oblivious to the fact that many of his guests were shying away from him, and that the chief decision maker had moved a safe distance away into a corner with his daughter.

Typhani sighed. "This is not going well," she said to Tarkin.

"I think you father has had a bit too much to drink," he observed.

"When hasn't he?" she mused. "Come with me. I'll show you what you need to see."

* * *

They slipped out a back door and Typhani led her guest across the plaza to the mine office complex in the deep blue Phelarian twilight. She punched in the password on the keypad to open the door, and they stepped inside. In the front lobby of the mine offices stood a refrigerated megonite display in a glass cubicle about the size of a large fish tank. Now Tarkin could see what he had come for. He moved a bit closer to examine the leafy, gray-green growth behind the glass, and to study examples of the various shapes, constitutions, and concentrations into which it could be molded. 

"The megonite moss grows naturally here on Phelarion," Typhani began to explain. "It does grow year-round, but there is a primary growing season during the summer and a secondary one in the winter. There's actually not much difference between the seasons; we have a cold, wet climate year-round as I'm sure you're aware. The moss is extremely heat-sensitive due to its chemical composition--that's explained in the specifications printout my father gave you--and so it must be handled very carefully. Our harvesters use special gear to prevent their body heat from causing a detonation, and, of course, the moss must be kept refrigerated during any transport and/or fabrication processes.

"The product can be mixed with other compounds to increase or decrease its explosive capabilities, or to prevent detonation altogether for long-term storage or transport across long distances. Megonite can be used as an energy source, if the proper moderator is applied. The product can also be used in varying concentrations, and can be compacted under supercooling into solids ranging from pellets to large cones or any other shape of the client's specification, for use as detonation devices in small or medium-sized weapons or even warheads. It's quite powerful. Come, I'll show you."

Typhani led her guest through a maze of hallways and cubicles to what appeared to be a laboratory at the rear of the office building. She pulled a large, clear, thick, vertical plexisteel plate on rollers away from the wall and positioned it in the middle of the room. She then put on a pair of thick, red durarubber gloves and opened a refrigeration compartment on the back wall of the lab. Using a long pair of forceps that she first dipped into a canister of dry ice, Typhani carefully removed a small pellet of megonite from a tray in the refrigeration unit and placed it in on a square of white duracrete tile, about ten centimeters square and a centimeter thick, that she had set in the middle of a large island table covered with a thick layer of heavily scarred plasteel. She then quickly ducked behind the rolling shield and motioned for her companion to join her. She placed her gloves on the counter behind them, and from another cabinet she withdrew two sets of headgear that resembled large headphones with dark but transparent blast shields. "Put these on," she said, "and then I'm going to heat the tabletop. Stay behind the shield." When they were prepared, she flipped a switch on the back wall and a thin, high-pitched hum came from the direction of the table.

The noise was indeed thunderous, and the flash from the detonation made everything in the room bright white, even when looking through the protective dark blast shield. The pellet had been no larger than half a centimeter in diameter, yet the duracrete tile had been utterly vaporized. They removed their headgear, and Tarkin tentatively approached the table. "Oh, you can touch it," Typhani told him, laying her right palm flat on the plasteel surface of the table. "It's not that hot, and because the megonite is organic, there's no radiation. But the more heat you apply, and the faster you apply it, the greater the explosive power." 

Tarkin's ambitious mind immediately began to run wild with fascination about what he could accomplish--the power he could wield, the worlds he could subjugate--with a continuous, renewable source of the megonite.

Typhani locked the laboratory behind them and continued her presentation as they walked back to the lobby. "We use a combination of paid workers and penal labor from the local prison camps, depending on the season and demand, to harvest the moss, but all of the administrative personnel here in the offices are salaried employees."

That elevated Tarkin's interest even more. "So you subcontract with the Mottis for the prison labor?" he asked. The locally influential Motti family specialized in designing and constructing corrections facilities and equipment, and in the movement and management of large numbers of inmates. They controlled several penal colonies on Phelarion, as well as a number of penal asteroids throughout the Outer Rim, and another large operation on Despayre in the Horuz system, under the direction of Graysen "The Warden" Motti, using natural megonite barriers to contain the prisoners. Also noted for their military capabilities, several other members of the Motti family had attained high rank in the Republic Armed Forces.

For a couple of seconds, Typhani looked a bit taken off guard, but quickly recovered. "Yes. We have--arrangements with them." Access to this labor pool had allowed Nostremi Octovano to expand his production considerably over recent years. 

"What sort of arrangements?"

She smiled and leaned closer to him. "Business arrangements," she said in a way that suggested that he should not press the matter.

As they proceeded back to the entrance, they stopped again to look at the display in the lobby. "My great-great-grandfather founded our company about a hundred and eighty years ago." Typhani smiled softly with pride. "It'll be mine soon. Papas getting tired, and hes talking of retiring," she concluded.

Of course, Tarkin was immensely impressed by the utter raw power of what had just been presented to him so professionally, but the presenter intrigued him as well. An intelligent young woman, barely out of her teens, seemingly fully knowledgeable of all of the properties and processes of her company's product, and who, with total calm, almost nonchalance, competently handled high explosives with little more than her bare hands with not a hint of trepidation as if she were baking pastries. Remarkable, he thought. And soon, all that power would be in her soft but steady hands. 

Attractive. Most attractive indeed. 

* * *

"You are so different from your father," Tarkin commented as they walked back across the plaza toward the noise coming from the main house. He hadn't even known that Baron Nostremi had a daughter.

"Thank you," she said, taking it as a compliment. "Sometimes he can be _so obnoxious_! But, he does know the business and everything technical about the mine. I'm trying to learn."

"Is this what you want to do with your life, run the mine?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered right away. "It has always fascinated me. What about you? What do you want to do?" 

"It's too soon to tell," he said as they stopped to sit down on a duracrete bench by one of Nostremi's prized dragon fountains. "The future is so uncertain right now."

"Do you think there will be a war? Papa seems to think so," she asked directly.

Tarkin chose not to share his deeper insights with someone he had only known for a couple of hours. "That remains to be seen as well," he said, cautious of what his newfound companion might tell her father or his contacts. Then, Typhani noticed that the Eriaduan security detail had spotted them.

"They've probably been looking for us," she said, gesturing in their direction.

"They know to keep their distance," he commented with more than a hint of disdain in his voice. 

"You don't like them following you around everywhere, do you?" she asked.

"No," he replied sharply, glancing over at her.

Then the water stopped coursing through the fountain behind them. "We turn them off at night," Typhani explained.

"Them?" 

"Yes. There are four of them, at the points of the directions. Papa loves and collects dragons, and he calls the four fountains his Gatekeepers.' The one behind us is called Hydra, and that one way over there is Manticore. The one around the north side of the house is called Basilisk, and the larger, more ornate one at the front of the house is called Gorgon. They were a gift to Papa several years ago, custom made for him," she explained.

"They're wonderful things. Symbols of power!"

"You like power, don't you?" Typhani asked, smiling over at him again.

"Yes." 

"So do I," she replied firmly, with resolve.

"You know how to read people well, don't you?" he asked, realizing that she had pegged him twice in the last five minutes. Ordinarily, that would have bothered him, but coming from Typhani, he found it intriguing, and perhaps useful.

"I like to think so," she said. "It's good for business."

"On that note," he commented, "we'd better get back inside."

The party soon dwindled to a lull, and one of Baron Nostremi's employees took the delegation back to their hotel in Port City. Typhani chose to ride along with them so that she could point out some of the sites and landmarks along the way, including Phelarion's extensive libraries located in Port City. By the time she returned, Nostremi lay snoring loudly on a divan in the formal front reception room. "Oh, Papa . . . " she whispered, shaking her head, as she pulled a thick faux fur blanket over him.

* * *

Typhani proceeded upstairs to her private chambers and removed her journal from its drawer in her vanity table. _"He's the most intriguing individual I've ever met,"_ she wrote. Then she recorded every physical detail about him. _"I've never felt safer or more complete around anyone else before, even Papa," _she continued. _"It's almost as though a part of myself was missing, though I know not what, and he just brought it back to me. There's also this overwhelming sense of power, especially for someone yet so young. I've been having those strange awarenesses again, and this time I've never been more certain."_

_* * *_

The Eriaduan delegation finally got to tour the mine offices and some of the harvesting and production sites the following morning, but no one offered the type of demonstration the Lieutenant Governor had enjoyed the previous evening. Still, he had seen enough, and his mind was made up.

"I'll be back in about ten days to work out the final details of the arrangement," Tarkin told Baron Nostremi as Typhani stood beside her father. He spoke to Nostremi, but he was looking directly at Typhani, who nodded in understanding. He started to turn away, but then turned back, and stepped a bit closer to Typhani. "Be sure to read your holonet messages," he continued, almost conversationally. "We may have some additional questions." As he turned to leave, Typhani felt a slight pulling sensation in her solar plexus . . . 

* * *

"I like the daughter much more than the father," Wullf Yularen commented to Tarkin as their shuttle lifted off. "She seems a lot more level-headed. I wonder if she knows what she's doing?"

"I'm quite certain she does," Tarkin assured him, taking his datapad from his briefbag to catch up on some work during the flight.

"By the way, where did you disappear to last night?" Yularen asked casually.

No answer.

Yularen smiled a wry, but hopeful, inward smile at that. It was about time. After all, everyone else in their tight-knit classmate group, except for Adrian and another close friend of his, Raith Sienar, had already gotten married and started families. He knew that Adrian had grown very tired of women chasing him solely because of his position, connections, and promising future, and that he had also recently ended relationships because of it. The pleasures he reserved for himself were few. He was willing to cast everything else into the military/political arena in pursuit of his ambitions, except for that most personal and intimate part of his life. The last thing he wanted was a marriage purely for the sake of political convenience. 

To Yularen, Typhani seemed to be very much his colleague's type, stately, yet understated. She was certainly no Theala Vandron, he mused thankfully, recalling with disdain that fat, ugly, clinging, suffocating, ostentatious, overbearing, overdone, overdressed, political gold-digging--and very married--public nuisance that his security troops had run out of Adrian's family compound on at least two occasions. "_Go get her--and all that megonite_!" Yularen thought as he looked over at Tarkin and took out his own datapad. 

* * *

"_Ten days_!" Typhani lamented in thought later that afternoon as she sat down at her desk to begin helping her father prepare the contract and specification templates. At least she still had his computer file. On that realization, she printed it and tucked it into a folder for safe and discrete transport back to the house.

"You know, I tink dat little Governor like you, Typhani," Nostremi commented as he came into her office with some additional specification data. "He watch every move you make dis morning."

"Does that concern you, Papa?" she asked.

"No! No! He seem like fine young man to me! So far, dat is. He screw up, dough, he go BOOM!" Nostremi bellowed. 

Typhani smiled softly at her father, then continued her work. They were just about to go to the house for the evening, but Typhani could not get Adrian's parting instructions out of her head. It was just the way he had said it, "Be sure to check your holonet messages . . . " She quickly finished her task at hand and logged on to the holonet. She smiled widely and clasped her hands together as his first message to her loaded. She must have read it three times, then quickly began to type a reply. "We enjoyed your visit as well," she typed. "We've already begun working on the contract and schematic templates, and we'll have a place set up for you to work on developing your specifications when you come back." She started to send the message. This first communication had been all business. Too much so. She concluded, "I'm looking forward to seeing you again," and decisively clicked the SEND icon. 

Slowly, over the next few days, the transmissions between them took on a more familiar tone, legitimate questions interlaced with leading comments and "just getting to know you" exchanges tacked on the ends. Indeed, they had a great deal in common. Then, Adrian surprised her on about the seventh day with a most direct, and rather simplistic, question, "Do you have a boyfriend?'

"My, we're being a bit forward," Typhani commented under her breath as she read the message. She thought carefully about her response. "Possibly," she typed. "I'm not certain quite yet. It's a bit difficult to determine such over the holonet." For the first time in her experience, she realized, the initial attraction was her own. She liked that. She much preferred that to having her affections drawn out of her by overzealous courtship. This way, she shared the power with her potential significant other. Furthermore, Typhani was not the least bit naive about what Adrian and his lucrative government connections could mean to her company. Perhaps, she thought, this is the only way it would ever work for her, to bond with someone her professional equal, someone in her same situation of being pursued for what one had instead of who one was. 

"Typhani!" Nostremi called from her doorway, "You on dat holonet again? Who you get so many messages from?"

"Adrian," she said simply.

"Adrian?" he echoed. "Who Adrian?"

"That little Governor," Typhani told him, and turned in her chair with a smile.

Nostremi raised his brows in delight. "Aaaaaaaah! You see! Dis is good, no?'

"We'll see, Papa. They're just holonet messages. After all, he came here because of the mine, not because of me. We must remember that," she said, ever the sensible realist. Still, she very much wanted to see him again, to explore whether there might indeed be more than Phelarian megonite and Republic money between them. She hoped so. She had never been so inexplicably attracted to someone. He came back a day early.

Typhani sat typing busily at her computer terminal when, without warning, black leather-gloved hands descended over her eyes. "Papa!" she snapped, annoyed. "I'm working!" Then that telltale tingling in her solar plexus began again. She turned and rose to face him, and they instinctively, almost reflexively, grabbed each other by the wrists. "Adrian!" she acknowledged with a smile "You're early!" 

"Well, then, I'd better come back tomorrow," he teased.

"Not a chance!" she said, reaching around to her credenza. "We've actually got everything ready for you. And, we've set up an office for you to work on the specifications." As he took the materials to flip through them quickly, Typhani looked him over as to assure herself that he was really there. The crisp, hard lines of his military uniform augmented his already powerful presence, but it seemed confining, constraining, as well, as if it were holding back the real person beneath, a different part of him that she wanted to know. Oh, how she already ached to get under that uniform!

"This looks good," he said, clapping the folder shut. 

"Excellent!" she said. "You'll be right down this hall." She led him only three doors down from her own office. "We've got you set up on the network; you'll need to set your own password the first time you log in. Your spec templates are in your folder. Of course, just let me know if you need anything else." Before he could say anything else, she turned back to her office, careful not to smother him with uninvited attention, having learned that such could scare men away.

Adrian got to work straight away--she would learn that this was his custom--but at the end of the day, they found themselves to be the last ones still in the office. "Come on," she said. "We still have a bit of daylight, and it's not so cold." They took another stroll through the plaza between the main house and the office complex, this time stopping to sit by Basilisk. 

"Papa is very impressed with you," Typhani said. "For someone so young to be in a position of planetary government! Were you, by chance, one of those little genius kids who graduated from the Academy at age twelve, or what?" she asked, smiling admirably at him.

"Oh, no, it wasn't anything like that at all," he said, starting to open up to her a bit more. "I'm a military person at heart. I'm actually a tactical specialist. I was working closely with my predecessor on some high-level technical projects concerning the tactical logistics for the new munitions factories when he resigned. I knew the most about the projects, so I was tapped to complete his term. There was only about a year and a half left anyway, and, in fact, this is my last project in that post. I've just made Commander with the Outland Regions Security Force, and so when I'm finished here, I'll be moving on to my command, and, perhaps, to some other ventures as well."

"Oh, Adrian, that's wonderful! Well deserved!" she congratulated him. Her response pleased him, and raised his esteem of her. She seemed genuinely happy for him and validated his sense of accomplishment, not degenerating into some clinging, glassy-eyed schoolgirl enamored with command itself rather than with the holder of such command. 

* * *

As the first week progressed into the second, their conversations grew more and more personal, their after-work walks longer, and their overall proximity to each other closer. Typhani knew that she could help him, now confident that he wouldn't take it the wrong way. And, she reasoned, it would give them a bit more time together to continue getting to know and understand each other if she could speed up his work. 

Adrian had specification details, a datapad, two different calculators, and all sorts of other paperwork spread out on a large drafting table, staring contemplatively at one item, when he noticed Typhani in his doorway.

"What are you working on now?" she asked, with more than genuine interest.

"Trajectories," he said, taking up one of the calculators again. "The weight and shape of an explosive can affect the trajectory of a weapon when it is fired," he explained.

Her resolve was firm. "I'll be right back," she said. When she returned, she had three large files and two large rolls of paper with her. "Here's what some of the others have done with projects similar to yours," she offered. She lowered her voice. "Whatever you do, don't tell Papa. We have strict confidentiality rules betwixt our customers, for obvious reasons." She put the items down on the credenza. "I've never done this before, but you're different, Adrian. I think you can make a difference."

He stepped over to the credenza and quickly looked through the materials Typhani had brought him, seizing upon one file. He craved to know what the Sullustans had! Most useful information indeed! He realized, though, at that point, that Typhani had at least enough technical understanding about what he was doing to augment it with additional information. Looking warmly at her, he thought that she should be at the Academy instead of working as her father's office manager. Here was someone with whom he could share _real knowledge_ rather than mere superficial political conversation.

"There's a set of drawings in here, Adrian, that look similar to what you've done," she said, and began unrolling the larger rolls of specifications charts. "Here it is. These Sullustans are pretty clever. And dangerous, Papa says." They spread the Sullustan specs across the drafting table and weighted the curled edges down with the calculators and the datapad. Adrian moved to one side of the table, and indicated for Typhani to sit down with him. 

"Their most recent contract is from about a year ago. Look at this," she said, pointing out one area of the plot with a blue-line pencil. "I was pretty good in math. Wouldn't this travel along a more efficient arc if launched from a lower orbit?"

"That wouldn't be effective overall," he observed, looking at the design of the Sullustan weapon, "but with some minor modifications . . . " He took up one of his calculators. "Here, write this down," he said, handing her the datapad. Together, side by side, they worked on Adrian's designs for several more hours, drawing strategic advantages from the files Typhani had brought him, and, albeit subconsciously, drawing closer and closer to one another. 

They had reached a good stopping point for the day, and both silently reviewed their work, looking at Adrian's datapad, their scratch sheets, the specification designs, and then, slowly, and at last, at each other. It was coming. They could both feel it now. And neither had the slightest reservation to stop it. They explored one another tentatively at first, as if they were afraid they would shock each other, and then fell into full embrace and the unbounded exhilaration of their first kiss. Leaning together, they could feel their complementary energies coursing through one another for the first time, not wanting them to stop, ever.

"Typhani!" Nostremi boomed from down the hall. "You still here, Typhani!"

They quickly resumed their normal postures as Nostremi approached. "In here, Papa!" she called back.

"Ah," he said, looking at Adrian. "She good little helper, no?"

"Just dictation, Papa," she said, and stood to leave the office with him before he noticed the extra materials.

After their walk the following evening was interrupted by the gardener, Typhani decided to take stronger action. After all, it was about to be the weekend again. "Papa," Typhani addressed her father, around mid-morning, stepping halfway into his office door, "I think I'm going to take Adrian to the camp."

Nostremi rose from his chair, and waved his right arm as he spoke, a glass of hot spiced ale in his hand. "Ya! Ya!" her father agreed, "You go to da camp! You go camping! Make lots o liddle campers!" 

"Papa!" Typhani exclaimed at her father's forthright exuberance about her newfound partner.

She stepped a few doors down to the vacant office where Adrian had been working and told him, "Go get your things together. Then meet me on the back veranda."

"Where are we going?" 

"Someplace special where we can have a little privacy," she said, smiling at him suggestively. "And take off that _uniform_!"

"Only if you take off that business suit," he told her, equally suggestively.

"I have every intention of it," she said, leaning further into the door and smiling warmly at him. Yes, they would remove the symbols of their positions, of the professional aspects of their relationship, and explore what lay beneath on the personal planes of their existences.

"Nardo, go bring my truck around back," Typhani ordered a servant about her own age as she walked into the house. She proceeded upstairs to change from her suit to jeans and a soft sweater, and to pack her things for the weekend.

When Adrian arrived, also in jeans and a Carida Academy sweatshirt, he was surprised to see Typhani in a black leather jacket standing in the bed of a large and imposing black truck, checking her emergency equipment. Nostremi came out then. "Typhani, you go to da bazaar?" he asked.

"Actually, I was thinking of stopping," she said. Her father promptly handed her a short list as she jumped down, the hard soles of her black leather boots clapping loudly against the rear driveway. Nardo then loaded two large coolers into the back of the truck. Adrian walked over to her then.

"You really know how to drive one of these things?" he asked, curious, but trying not to be offensive.

"It's mine, so I'd better!" she said, smiling back at him. They put their bags in the back seat of the dual cab, and then Typhani remembered something. "Nardo, run up to my room and get my music datacard case. I forgot to bring it down," she shouted. The young male servant dutifully complied. "We have to have something to listen to," Typhani told Adrian. "It's about a three-hour drive to the lake."

"How in the universe can you stay awake that long?" he asked, having rarely driven himself and being an easy sleeper in any moving object.

She laughed at him. "Driving through megonite, you stay awake or else! Come on, let's go." 

They drove through Port City, then out onto the open highway. Within ten minutes of leaving Port City, they were amidst pure wilderness. Coming from the densely populated factory planet that was Eriadu, Adrian found the spacious scenery quite refreshing and to his liking, as well as the companionship. "I'm going to do something very cruel to you now," she warned him as they came around a bend into the small town of Bernihaad. "I'm going to drag you through your first Phelarian bazaar." Adrian thought of his sister, Morgana, the artistic one in the family, and how she had also dragged through such places on Eriadu because their father would not let her go alone. Another positive thought occurred to him then--perhaps Typhani and Morgana would have a great deal in common as well.

The bazaar consisted of three different buildings that, in whole, were part flea market, part pottery shop, and part arts and crafts festival. The large, barn-like, metal structures were literally crammed with aisle upon aisle of just about everything imaginable, yet Typhani darted in and out, knowing exactly where to find exactly what she needed, and made short order of her fathers list as well. Not so bad, Adrian thought. He and his best friend Raith had also run through such during their youth in the undercity of Coruscant. "If you like these places," he told her, "you will absolutely love the underground markets on Coruscant." 

"I've heard about those!" Typhani said with a wide smile. "I'd love to see them someday. This is nothing, though," she said as she shoved her bags into the back seat as they were about to be on their way again. "The real event is when the artsy-fartsy comes to Port City."

"Artsy-_fartsy_?" Adrian echoed.

"It's a big arts and crafts fair. That's what Papa calls it, artsy-fartsy. You would recognize it, though. Lots of vendors come over from Eriadu with all this wonderful blue and silver shell stuff. I go to get ideas, and then turn around and make my own!" she explained.

"So that's what all those bags of beads are for?"

"Secret fantasy of mine, becoming a jewelry designer. I can't let anyone around the mine know about that, though. It would make me look weak. Next incarnation, maybe." 

* * *

At dusk, they finally arrived at the Octovanos' expansive wooded property on Lake Phelarion. Typhani stopped on the way in to start the two large generators that powered the camp. To Adrian, there appeared to be a main cabin, a domed metal structure of sorts, as well as several out buildings. Surprisingly, Typhani didn't go toward the main cabin, but down a narrow footpath behind it to one of the small out buildings. She withdrew her keys from her jacket pocket and unlocked the door. "This is my little private retreat," she began as they climbed up inside the small cabin. "It used to be a garden shed, actually, but I took it over when I was about ten, and have been adding to it ever since. It's my little private corner of the universe, but it's cold in here. There are two heaters; grab the other one over there," she said as she turned on the overhead light. It would take the small heaters awhile to warm the cabin, though. Adrian looked around at the cluttered interior. In a fleeting moment, he wondered how many others had been there before him. 

In one corner was a functional but old computer terminal, and next to it, an old drafting table, obviously from the mine offices, that was piled and cluttered with bowls of beads and bags of shells and other implements of Typhani's primary hobby, well away from judgmental eyes. Two bookcases contained Typhani's blank journal collection, with two shelves devoted to volumes she had already completed, also safe from prying eyes. Journaling was one of many shared interests between them, they had learned. Whereas Typhani still used an ink pen and wrote introspectively by hand in books of bound paper, Adrian kept his journal in database form on his laptop computer, notes on various individuals, groups, and events for possible future reference, and use, later.

They sat down on some thick floor mats next to one of the heaters, and pulled some heavy, faux fur blankets from a basket in the corner. When the cabin finally warmed, they retrieved their bags and the coolers and settled in for the night. Typhani reached into her bag for her current journal and her pen case.

"Now what do you possibly do with that when you're finished?" Adrian asked her, with a sharp, almost accusatory tone in his voice.

She was taken aback and somewhat offended by his tone. "It's the process that matters, Adrian," she explained. His military mentality didn't appreciate activity without end product or possible future gain. To demonstrate, he withdrew his computer from its bag and brought up his database.

"That's not a real journal," Typhani teased him.

"It's a _useful_ activity," he insisted. "Don't you keep records of your business contacts, meeting notes, your impressions of people, whether they might be dangerous, dishonest, or forthright? 

"Well, no. Papa knows everybody," she said.

"Papa is retiring, no?" he asked.

The realization dawning on her, she leaned against him and looked over his shoulder at the format of the database. "I can create a new blank record," he explained as he did so and she watched him, "then clone it to create a blank database with the same format. Now, we just save the new blank one as Typhani's Database.'" Typhani watched him closely now. How many times had she spent hours setting up new record formats for the mine's accounting purposes from scratch? Adrian was going to make her life a lot easier, she knew, better, richer, fuller.

"My head is full of information I could put into that," she acknowledged. "But I still like recording my thoughts with my own hand. It's a unique experience. It helps me sort things out sometimes. Haven't you ever had a problem or decision to make that you had trouble thinking through? Sometimes we can write our way to our own solutions." She took up her current journal again. "It's also good for venting frustration, exploring feelings about relationships, and making plans for the future."

"And writing down your deepest, darkest secrets and your wildest fantasies and the like?" he teased.

She smiled down at her journal, her face a bit red. "Well, yes, that too." 

"Wait a minute, what have you written about _me_ in there?" he asked, snatching the book playfully from her lap. She instinctively grabbed for it, and their gazes met. 

She moved very close to him. "Do you want me to show you?" she asked in a low, soft tone. "After all, actions speak louder than words, no?" They looked longingly and deeply at each other, and drew closer, then sank back into the thick fur blankets. "It's time you got used to having warm, soft things around you," she told him, sensing that he'd had far too much military and industrial hardness in his life. And out in the middle of the Phelarian woods, who would know? 

"Does that include you?" he asked, drawing her closer to him.

"Yes, Adrian," she said softly, the mutual attraction between them now an undeniable fact. And then, all pretense of restraint fell away as they embraced each other with passion and fury, as if their very souls were being forged together in the molten depths of the moment. 

* * *

Nostremi was waiting for them when they returned the following evening. Typhani had noticed lights on in the office, and so that is where they went. She stopped in the front lobby to sort through some packages as Adrian proceeded to his office to check on his work. They thought they had carefully put everything away before they left . . . 

Typhani heard her father's voice, cursing, menacing, threatening, "You nothing but a thief and a cheat! You worse dan de odders! And den you take advantage my daughter! You die!" Then she heard a loud, snapping, crashing sound, as if large pieces of office furniture were being hurled into the walls. She knew what her father had found.

"Adrian!" she shrieked as she ran down the hall, but her legs could not carry her fast enough. Nostremi had ambushed Adrian in the small office, catching him off guard, then threw him hard into the far wall and bludgeoned him with the chair from the drafting table. He lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious. Nostremi had then torn the desk lamp from its place, and, wielding it high over his head like a club, was stalking toward Adrian as Typhani ran into the room. She seized her father's upraised arm and pulled with all her strength, but she could barely hold him back.

"No, Papa, no! He didn't do it! He didn't do anything! Stop it! Stop it, Papa!" she screamed. Nostremi paused, breathing hard, his face a deep red, but did not lower the missile. Typhani glanced quickly over at Adrian. He had not moved. "I did it! I gave him the Sullustans' plans and the other files!"

Nostremi let the lamp clatter to the floor, and he took a couple of steps backwards, glowering down at his daughter. He grabbed her by the front of her sweater, pulling and breaking an intricate, hand-made chain of blue and silver shells and beads that she wore. "You do what? I tell you _never _do someting like dat!" he bellowed as the beads rattled to the floor. He shook her violently. "Why you do dat? You dare disobey me? You ungrateful, disloyal liddle traitor!" Then he grabbed her by the throat, his anger utterly overtaking his senses. Typhani began to tremble uncontrollably as she noticed the strong smell of alcohol on her father's breath. She had never seen him this angry. "Why!" he demanded, shaking her by the neck, "You tell me why you do dis!" And then he drew back and slapped her across the room. "You answer me! Why you try to ruin us!" he continued, taking up the lamp again. 

"I was not trying to ruin us!" she retorted, her own white-hot anger seething forth. "You wanted more legitimate contracts as much as I did! You can't have it both ways, Papa! And now look what you've done!" Adrian still lay motionless where he had fallen. "Let me tell you something here and now, old man," she continued through clenched teeth. "I am sick and tired of your drunken outbursts! No wonder Mama left! And I will leave you, too! I will leave you here to rot in this slime pit of dishonor and shame that you have created for yourself!" 

Nostremi's knuckles grew white as he gripped the desk lamp and raised it high over his head again. "You go nowhere!" he snarled loudly, and lunged at her. Then her tears came as she backed into a corner. She put her arms up defensively over her face as her father advanced toward her. Just as she was about to put her head down in anticipation of the blow that was to come, she gasped sharply as she saw Adrian move, and reach for his briefbag. 

Nostremi whirled around in time to see the blaster pointed squarely at his chest. The lamp fell away harmlessly as the heavy stun bolt put him on the floor. 

Adrian slumped back down again, and Typhani crawled to him. For a long moment, they just held on tightly to each other, catching their breath and taking in the realization of what had just happened. Then Typhani glanced over at her father, concerned.

"Don't worry, he'll just be out for a couple of hours," Adrian said as he stiffly tried to sit up, his vision blurry and a stabbing pain in his head where part of the chair had struck him. Typhani had no doubt he had a serious concussion. Dark blue bruises had already started to appear on the sides of her neck, and the bright red marks on one side of her face bad already begun to swell.

"Do you think you can make it to the house?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so," he said as, together, they pulled themselves up from the office floor, stepped over the hulking pile of flesh that was Nostremi, and limped toward the house, holding fast to one another. Adrian had instinctively clipped his blaster to his belt.

"I've never seen him like that," Typhani said as they stood in the kitchen putting ice on each other's wounds.

Adrian's concern for her piqued. "How long has that drunken fool been mistreating you like this?" he asked intensely.

"He doesn't do it often," she said, looking away.

He took her gently by the arm as she looked back at him. "Once is too often," he insisted, taking her chin in his hand. "Come on, let's get out of here."

She lowered her head and looked away dismissively. "I can't leave, Adrian," she said ruefully. "I have too much at stake here, and he won't live forever. But perhaps you had better go. You shot at him. I don't know what he'll do when he comes around."

"I'm not leaving you here alone with him. Hes far too volatile. Its not safe," Adrian insisted. Typhani looked relieved at that, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"How much longer do you think he'll be out?" 

"Another hour or so, perhaps. I set for heavy stun."

"Let's go upstairs," she suggested. "He may stop at his liquor cabinet and not make it that far tonight."

As they were ascending the main staircase, Adrian stumbled and nearly fell again, his free hand going to his head. "This is bad. We need to get you into Port City," Typhani insisted, concerned.

"I can't," he said as they sat down on the stairs for a moment. "They'll make too much trouble for me back on Eriadu for coming here without a security detail," he explained. 

"You shouldn't travel without security, in your position," she cautioned him.

"I didn't think I'd have a problem here."

He sank down on the bed with his ice pack when they reached his guest room. Typhani went briefly to her own room to retrieve a jar of thick, soothing cold cream to coat the injured side of her face. She settled into the chair next to Adrian. They sat talking for another hour and a half, then they heard heavy footfalls on the hall stairs. Both of them snapped to full alertness, but neither moved. 

"He all right?" Nostremi asked his daughter.

Typhani did not look at her father. "Yes, I think so," she said quietly. 

Nostremi rubbed his own aching head, and addressed his daughter again. "You come. You will explain. Now," he demanded. Nostremi seemed much calmer, and Typhani looked down at Adrian in a way that suggested that she would be all right. Still, he grasped her hand reassuringly as she rose to follow her father. 

Nostremi and his daughter went downstairs to the front parlor. "Why?" he asked angrily. 

"Papa, you don't seem to understand," she began, "you have dealt with scum for so long that you don't realize what this and other government contracts could mean to us, especially if there is a war! Adrian is more powerful and has more connections than you realize. We could end up with sole-source dominance of the megonite market, and that could make us--make me--one of the wealthiest women in the galaxy! We wouldn't have to depend on our _connections_ for for a modicum of respectability anymore, if you know what I mean. But we can't have it both ways, not and be legitimate, as you say. If we are going to go for the Republic contracts, then we can't continue to protect those who undermine the Republic, don't you understand? We will continue to deal with the Sullustans and such, but only to get their information," she told her father decisively.

"You know what dey do to us if dey find out?" he warned her. 

"Not if we have adequate protection, Papa. The Republic, and whatever it becomes, will provide us that protection," she assured him.

"Dis is not honorable," Nostremi said, looking away. "Not at all what I had in mind." 

"Neither is what we have been doing for the past hundred and fifty years, Papa! Besides, honor is often a casualty of war. If there is one," she reminded him.

"So you make dis choice on your own? You not even come an' ask me about it? _He_ make you do dis, no? Tomorrow, he go!"

Typhani leaned toward her father and lowered her voice a bit. "No, Papa, Adrian did not coerce me. I looked at what he was doing and pulled the best materials we had on file to supplement his work and give him the advantage. He didn't even know we had such files," she assured him.

"You tell him about Selden?"

"No. He hasn't earned that yet."

"He still come between us, Typhani. Some bad influence he got too much over you, for you go off on your own like dis, dat you never do before. Den he pull a blaster on me. He not good for you, not good for us. He go. We get someone else," Nostremi insisted.

Typhani realized there was no use arguing further that evening. She went to her room, and her father, staring after her a moment, wearily trudged himself off to bed as well.

* * *

Adrian seemed back to normal the following morning, and he'd had the night to sort out what had happened. His political and military sensibilities, and what he considered to be his better judgment, had returned and taken back control of his actions from his passions and emotions, although this time the transition was not as easy as it usually was. "I thought you said you could read people," he said accusingly to Typhani as he pinned his insignias to his uniform.

She had strode confidently into his room, eager to begin the day by acting as go-between between Adrian and her father. Now, as she stared into the mirror he was standing in front of, into his eyes, her confidence was rapidly changing to suspicion. 

"What?" she asked.

"Your father. You should have told me he might react so violently if he found out," he said coldly.

"I told you I'd never seen him like that," she insisted.

"And now what will he do?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"I've been working on this project for weeks, Typhani, and would very much like to be concluded with it and move on to my command post. But now it looks as though this project has come to naught and I shall have to be delayed while I locate another source of explosives," he explained sharply.

Her eyes turned cold and she folded her arms across her chest. "I thought it was too good to last," she muttered with disdain and disappointment. "That's all you're really worried about, isn't it? Whether Papa will cut you off now?"

"It's a very legitimate concern." 

"You're just like the others!" 

"What?" he asked, not following her line of thinking at all. She sensed that, and it bothered her.

"You're blaming me for what happened yesterday! And now you're concerned only for your project! Where do you think this leaves me, Adrian? My father may never trust me again!" she shouted at him. She also found his present sentiments most inconsistent. The previous evening, he had seemed more than willing to leave the project behind--and take her with him. But now the megonite meant more. He was failing her, badly, and he didn't even realize.

"Trust is a thing of the past, my dear. Besides, I thought you and your father worked everything out last night," he said condescendingly, as if he really believed that one conversation could make up for her worst act of betrayal. He seemed totally ungrateful to her. 

Now she was angry. She took a deep breath, and stepped back from him. "You know, Adrian, this is turning out very badly for all of us. I think Papa is right in this instance. Perhaps you'd better go," she told him coldly.

"Yes, perhaps I'd better," he replied icily, and stormed out of the room.

* * *

Adrian was quite literally ill by the time he reached his compound on Eriadu. He felt as though the battle that raged between his mind and his heart was tearing him apart inside, and the sense of defeat and rejection overwhelmed him as nothing ever had before. To be so vanquished in both the personal and professional arenas simultaneously was utterly incomprehensible to him. He should be insidiously enraged, he knew, at the loss of the contract and at the young woman who had left him so vulnerable through what would normally have been to him an unforgivable error in judgment. Ordinarily, he would have been heatedly preparing a military subjugation maneuver against House Octovano. His typical rage, though, just would not come, no matter how hard he tried to muster it, replaced only by cold and empty despair. For several days, he feigned the flu and did not even get out of bed. Then, frustration and confusion over his atypical reactions set in, further complicating his circumstances, and he quickly found himself unable to sleep, unable to keep anything down, unable to focus on anything else, and yet unable to do anything about his situation. He had simply never been in love before. In his mind, that wasn't supposed to happen to him yet, and so he didn't recognize the symptoms or know what to make of them. Fortunately, he had a couple of close friends who did. 

Wullf and Raith both knew Adrian far better than he knew himself. Wullf had immediately recognized the nature of the problem, and together he and Raith forced Adrian in front of his computer terminal and demanded that he take action--one way or the other--either reach out or end it. Far too much was at stake in the galaxy for him to be incapacitated in such a way, and, they warned, other associates of theirs would not be so kind or understanding if they found out that the ambitious military Lieutenant Governor of Eriadu was merely lovesick!

* * *

Typhani hid her emotions from her father. She would not allow herself to be devastated quite yet. She still felt something. She made sure to check her holonet messages regularly. "Come on, Adrian," she said softly under her breath as she logged on to the holonet a few days after he left. "I know there's more to you than this." Nothing. She decided to move ahead with the next part of her plan anyway.

Nostremi was surprised to see his daughter packing for what appeared to be a trip. "Where you go, Typhani?" he asked. He knew she could use a break after what had just happened.

"I'm just going to visit a friend, Papa." 

"What friend?"

"Milric," she said quietly, and did not look up at him.

Nostremi put his hands on his hips. "Typhani, I tell you again and again, dat boy just want da mine an' a commission he no deserve! I no like him," he reminded her.

She closed her suitcase and looked up at him then. "Papa, let me share something with you. After this most recent experience, I have come to realize that _any_ man who takes up with me will want the mine and an easy ride to rank, no matter what. I am not willing to spend my life alone because of that." She paused for a moment, then continued. "You know, though, I had hoped that I could at least find someone who was on par with me in terms of intellect and ambition, and perhaps even position. But, thanks to you, it doesn't look like that is going to happen."

"Where Adrian?" 

"Governing Eriadu, I suppose, and looking for another fuel source," she speculated.

"Another source? Why you say dat?" he asked, concerned.

"He left. You cut him off, didn't you?" 

"Not yet. I no see him to do it. I tought he just go home for someting," Nostremi said. "Dat too bad. We get somebody else. _You _get somebody else, too, Typhani. Dat Milric bad news."

"Whatever, Papa," she said, and sank down into the chair at her vanity table. At least that part of her scheme had worked flawlessly. But would it be worth the effort? The proof still wasn't in yet. She was beginning to fear that it wasn't going to come.

She logged onto the holonet again the next evening, and sat back smiling with relief and elation as the message loaded. "Are you all right," it read. "I still don't like the idea of you being alone with that drunken father of yours. Just let me know that you're all right."

"Oh, no, Adrian," she said to the computer, "You're going to have to work much harder than that." She declined to respond to the message, but then realized that Adrian could tell that it had been opened. She didn't want him to think that she didn't want to see him again. Instead, she wanted to see if she could make him come running, when, as far as he knew, their business deal was off. She carefully typed her response, "My daughter no concern of yours no more. She no get any messages now. She learn hard way her lesson, and I am not drunk."

* * *

Adrian had never felt such a sense of panic, and his own reaction surprised even him. The megonite didn't matter anymore, and he couldn't even understand why. All he knew is that he had to get to Phelarion--fast.

The following morning, Typhani told her father she was not feeling well and stayed at the house. She knew Adrian wouldn't look for her at the office, not after the message she'd written him. 

She would always remember the expression of utter relief on his face as he looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs. He had met her standards. In the tightest embrace either of them had ever known, they sank down in the middle of the stairs.

When they could finally speak to each other, Adrian asked her, "Where's you father? What did he do to you?"

She looked away dismissively. "He's at the office. He was really angry for a few days, but he's calmed down now." It was not long before Nostremi discovered them. Adrian tensed and started to reach for his blaster again.

"Dere you two are," he said, almost congenially, then to Adrian, "You finish now. I just lose my temper, dats all." Nostremi had finally realized that Typhani was right about the Republic contracts, and, in his eyes, there was absolutely no comparison to be made between Milric and Adrian. Typhani and Adrian just leaned into each other, drawing on each other's energies, reconnecting--and relieved.

* * *

Over the next several weeks, their relationship escalated faster than either of them expected. The passion and the inexplicable bond between them had become undeniable, and Adrian went to Typhani every chance he got amidst the duties of his new command, having finished his megonite specifications. Inevitably, others took notice of his frequent excursions.

"Where's Commander Tarkin gone now?" Dyrk Romodi asked Wullf Yularen, badly needing some input on how to program a tactical station.

"Phelarion, as usual," Yularen told him.

"Phelarion! Again?" Romodi exclaimed sarcastically, "Why not Hoth or Tatooine for that matter--top vacation spots for sure!"

"There's something _female_ on Phelarion," Yularen advised him with a wink.

Romodi was incredulous. "He's just trying to get his hands on that megonite facility!" he sneered. 

"That's what I thought at first," Yularen replied. "But I tell you, he was absolutely unfit for human company and certainly not anything remotely resembling himself during the week or so they were on the outs. I've never seen him like that. Raith even came all the way out here because he was worried about the situation. He said hed never seen him that way either, and theyve been best friends since they were nine or ten years old. Then, Tarkin got some sort of message from her, and you would have thought the universe was coming to an end, well, at least _his_ universe! He went tearing out of here like a laser-guided torpedo out of a turbo cannon! No, Dyrk, I tell you, there's real fire between those two, and Raith and I both think its hot enough to burn for a very long time."

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